Curl Chronicles

I was born with fine, thin, hard- to- curl hair — hair that refuses to do what I want it to do. My mother has always referred to it as “sorry hair.”

I grew up watching old blackand- white movies featuring cute little Shirley Temple, with a head full of curly ringlets that bounced as she danced. I wanted hair like Shirley’s, and so many nights, I’d wet my long, straight strands and twirl each piece up into a pink foam curler — those soft, spongy things that promised voluminous, bouncy curls. I slept in the pink curlers (and by the way, my mother still does). I still remember unwinding them the following morning before school and looking at myself in the big mirror in the hall bathroom. Curls, curls, and more curls! Mom would help me apply some hairspray, and then I was off to school. As I rode the bus, I could feel my hair falling with each passing minute. By the time I strutted into homeroom, my hair was flat as a flitter again, and so was my spirit.

Then in the seventies, all of my girlfriends in junior high and high school shifted to the full, feathered cuts that Farrah Fawcett wore on that “Charlie’s Angels” television show. To achieve her glamorous look, I needed a curling iron. My sister and I got one for Christmas, and both of us took to the mirror to try it out. I still remember scorching my forehead and neck with that iron. Ouch! It would curl my hair, but just as before, the curls didn’t last, and so, the feathered Fawcett look was a bust for me.

My mom felt sorry for me, and in the eighties, she suggested that she give me a “perm.” We bought a kit from the store and she rolled my hair using long plastic rollers. Then she applied chemicals to the rollers — chemicals that smelled like ammonia and stung my scalp. The whole process took a couple of hours. I’m not going to lie — the perms helped add body to my hair and pumped it up a bit, but the chemicals damaged it, and I remember on one occasion, the perm turned parts of my long blonde hair to “goo,” so we stopped doing that.

I’ve tried velcro rollers, which did add some volume and lift, but the style didn’t last more than an hour in the Georgia heat and humidity. And I’ve tried expensive hair vitamins and shampoos (those didn’t work either). For the last 20 years, I used a round brush to just tame it and turn it under a little. And so, I’ve had the same basic style for two decades.

To add insult to injury, we live in a time where “beauty influencers” are all over social media doing their hair in minutes. “All you have to do is add a little of this product, and bam, look at the results!” These young women have about 10 times as much hair as I have, and their hair has natural body and volume. They have no idea what I’m dealing with here.

But something has happened in the last five years that has me a little optimistic. As my hair has started its natural graying process, the texture of my hair is changing. Now, what used to be straight as a board, has a little wave to it. On many days, I wash or wet my hair and let it air dry to find a few twists and turns where there was once none.

“Do you think my hair would do continued from page

a layered shag cut?” I asked my sister and niece last week via a text message. I sent them a photo of a sexy young woman peeking out from underneath sultry bangs.

If Ireland, my young hair stylist, thinks my hair will cooperate with a shag cut or long bob (known as a lob) with minimal work in the mornings, I may give it a try.

I know, I know. Hair doesn’t define me. I’m trying not to be vain — trying. But I’d love to add a touch of sass to my hair. For once, I’d like to look in the mirror and think, “Hey, my hair looks good today.” Maybe this year. Maybe.